


What the fire took (we'll take it back)

by broken_fannibal



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (featuring crowleys weird snake flexibility), Affection, Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Autistic Crowley (Good Omens), Character Undeath, Child Death, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley has Auditory Processing Disorder (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morning Cuddles, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Whump, shutdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 08:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broken_fannibal/pseuds/broken_fannibal
Summary: They were just on their way back to the Bentley when they passed a burning building. And not just any building. A small kindergarten.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came up when I was talking to @some-thrilling-heroics about Crowley saving children by smuggling them onto the arc. And thank you so much for helping me with this when I was stuck!
> 
> For some reason (choose what you want), Crowley knows the kindergarten.

The dark smoke rose high into the afternoon sky.

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes flicked around, taking in the scene in front of them, scanning the crowd.

Aziraphale followed him as he walked closer until he could hear what the people were talking about.

They were parents, worried about their children who were still inside.

At that moment Aziraphale noticed what kind of building it was. It was a small kindergarten. Dread settled in his gut.

The fire was raging on, too aggressive to allow the firefighters to go inside until reinforcement arrived.

They tried their best to keep it at bay, to beat it back from the outside. They had managed to rescue a few children through one of the windows.

Crowley frantically looked around, his eyebrows drawn together, mouth a tight line, jaw clenched.

And- oh no. Aziraphale knew that look. “Crowley, no. You can't-”

Crowley’s head whipped around to look at him. “I can and I will.” The tone made clear there was no changing his mind.

“It's too dangerous. You-”

“Children! In there!” His voice hitched, words clipped and tense. He gestured at the burning building. “No one’ssss-” He gave a frustrated hiss.

Aziraphale reached for his shoulder.

But Crowley pulled away. “Don't try to ssst- chk.” He shook his head, turned on his heel and ran towards the building.

The firefighters called after him, warned him to stop. But he ignored them.

There was smoke everywhere. He called out, shouting to let the children know there was someone there to save them. And for once he was glad that he didn't actually need to breathe.

More and more smoke was collecting under the ceiling, it stung in his eyes. Most parts of the floor were on fire. Flames licked at the walls, burning the wallpaper. The scent of burning wood, plastic and fabric was everywhere, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

Then he heard it- a few voices, calls for help from one of the rooms. The door was stuck, debris blocked it. He cleared the way and pulled at the door with all his strength. The frame creaked. But eventually, it gave in.

There were four children inside.

He rushed them to the door, staying just long enough to see them get out safely. Then he sprinted up the stairs. There he systematically searched all the rooms. He called for them, hoping they were still alive.

The smoke just kept getting more, the smell too. Crowley had to stop for a moment. He closed his eyes, tried to focus.

His ears picked up on coughing from the back of one room. Then a failing voice from having inhaled too much smoke.

He ran into the room and looked around, but he couldn't see them anywhere. Where were they? Where were they hiding?

Another cough.

In the cupboard! He rushed to open it. Five small children.

He picked two of them up. The other three held each other's hands, he grabbed one of the children's hands and hurried towards the door.

Quite a few of the steps of the stairs were now on fire. He took off his jacket and put it on the railing. The older children slid down, another climbed onto his back, he picked the younger ones up and jumped from one not burning spot to the next.

When they were all at the foot of the stairs he shifted the young ones in his arms to grab one of the other children's hand and they sped towards the door. He kicked it open and they ran outside.

Aziraphale saw the door fly open.

And there was Crowley. Carrying two toddlers in one arm, one on his back and two more in tow. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore. He was covered in ash, black streaks on his face, a few burned spots on his clothes.

Some of the parents gave overjoyed cries at seeing their children alive.

Crowley looked around.

One set of parents looked horrified. Two men holding hands, now with tears in their eyes.

"How many-” he faltered, words were failing him. He pressed on. Driven by adrenaline, he forced the words out. “Who's missing?" Panic closed around his throat, he knew time was running out. If he didn't get back inside soon, it might be too late.

"O-our little girl..."

“Jane...” the other man said, his voice failing.

Crowley didn't hesitate, knew he couldn’t. He turned and sprinted towards the building.

He didn't even hear Aziraphale calling his name, telling him he’d try to keep the building from collapsing.

He opened the door, ran inside again. He called the girl's name. Over and over. He searched every room. Every cupboard he could find. Every space small enough to fit a child.

But he couldn't find her.

He was so close to giving up when he saw the small body curled up under a desk. His heart nearly stopped.

The cupboard next to her was ablaze. Not long until it would have reached her.

He kneeled down. Shook her shoulder.

Nothing. No movement.

She didn't even look like she was breathing.

Crowley gathered her up in this arms and raced to the stairs. Almost all the steps were on fire. He bit his lip and jumped. He landed and immediately started running again.

The ceiling gave a loud crack.

He nearly tripped several times. Then he burst through the door, still stumbling.

He didn't make it far. He broke down, fell to his knees, utterly exhausted. The smoke still clung to him, choking him. Stress and panic pressed down on his chest.

The girl was dead.

He hadn't been able to save her. He had been too late. He had failed.

Aziraphale knew it was bad from the moment Crowley burst through the door.

His glasses were gone, leaving Aziraphale to see the desperation, the pain in his expression. 

He hurried to get to Crowley’s side. "What is-" he reached out.

But Crowley reared back and hissed at him, all tongue and distorted face. His shoulders hunched up as he pressed the small body closer to his chest.

Her fathers slowly came closer. Deep down, they knew what this meant.

"Is she-" Aziraphale stopped. No need to say it out loud. No need to make it worse.

Tears ran down Crowley's cheeks. He couldn't keep himself upright anymore, his body sank forward.

Aziraphale reached out again, tried to pull him back to get a better look at the girl. "Let me-"

A low noise, raw, from deep inside Crowley's throat. Expression full of anger and pain.

And then everything went still.

The sirens, the people talking, shouting, crying. The rush of water. The roaring and cracking of the fire. It all stopped. The collapsing building frozen.

Time stood still.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and kneeled down next to Crowley. 

The sudden quiet was painful and suffocating.

Crowley’s heavy breathing was the only noise.

Aziraphale held a hand to the girl's chest and closed his eyes, summoning heaven's power to bring her back to life.

After he had lifted his hand, they both watched and waited, hearts beating wildly, breaths held.

Then- after seemingly endless seconds, the girl jolted upright and gasped, her eyes wide. She took gulping breaths and started crying. Her small hands held onto Crowley’s arm.

From one second to the next all the sounds came back.

Crowley tensed, it was like a whiplash of noise. Piercing his ears, hammering into his skull.

But the girl was alive. Struggling for every breath. Fighting for her life. Coughing and hiccuping and sobbing.

Her fathers came running, dropping down right next to Crowley. They took their daughter, hugging her and holding her close. Crying tears of relief.

They thanked him again and again.

But Crowley just got up. And without a word, not even a smile, he walked away. No one paid any attention to him.

Aziraphale watched him, worry creeping up his spine. When he arrived at the Bentley and slid into the passenger seat, Crowley was already wearing sunglasses again. His face was stoic as ever, lips pressed into a tight line.

For a moment Aziraphale considered saying something. But given the state of things- well, the state of Crowley- he knew he wouldn't get an answer anyway. And it would probably do more harm than good anyway. So he simply fastened his seat belt and waited.

Crowley swerved into traffic, knuckles white as his hands were wrapped around the steering wheel. He drove even faster and more recklessly than he usually did.

Aziraphale jerked forward when they abruptly came to a stop. The seat belt pressed into his chest.

He had been so busy holding onto the handrail and fearing for the people crossing the street that he hadn't noticed they were already at the bookshop.

He hesitated after unbuckling his seat belt. "Why don't you come inside?" he asked quietly.

A pained twitch in Crowley's expression at the noise, half baring his teeth with a hiss. But eventually, he gave a small nod.

Aziraphale hurried to unlock the bookshop. He went inside and held the door open for Crowley. Then he locked it and drew down the curtains.

When he turned around again after hanging up his coat, Crowley was gone. He blinked and looked around. Where had he gone?

Aziraphale quietly walked into the bookshop. To the very back.

Ah, there he was.

Crowley looked like he had collapsed onto the couch. It really didn't seem comfortable. His legs dangled over one armrest, while his face was buried against the other. His glasses had been pushed up to his forehead. One hand dangled off the couch, the other must be buried somewhere under his body.

Aziraphale sat down in his armchair and watched at Crowley, worry in his expression.

After several minutes, Crowley gave a heavy sigh and turned onto his back, one arm across his belly, the other carelessly hanging off the couch.

His glasses had slipped back in place. They were so dark that Aziraphale couldn't tell what he was looking at- or if his eyes were closed.

He quietly got up to make himself some tea. And to get a glass of wine for Crowley.

While he waited for the water to boil, he wet a cloth. He'd put it down on the tray as well. Just in case Crowley would want to wash his face and hands.

When Aziraphale came back, Crowley lay on the couch with his back to him. Curled in on himself, knees pulled up and a soft pillow pressed against his chest.

He sighed, it pained him to see Crowley like this. And he wished there was something he could do. Not just having to sit around and wait.

But sitting around and waiting for Crowley to recover was the best thing to do.

So he set the tray down on the small table, pushed the wine and the cloth to Crowley's side. Then he poured himself some tea. He took a sip, deemed it too hot to be comfortable and set the cup down on the saucer again.

At the faint clink, a small movement caught his eye. Crowley had tensed. His shoulders pulled up further. One hand snapping up to cover his ear.

Aziraphale could just stop himself from apologising.

He set the wine glass and cloth down on the table, very careful to be quiet this time. He picked a book and took the tray upstairs.

He paused at the top of the stairs. Then he quickly set the tray down on his nightstand and wrote a note for Crowley. He tucked it under the foot of the wine glass and quietly went back to his bedroom.

Halfway through the book he was reading, he heard noise from downstairs. He perked up and listened.

He knew better than to disturb Crowley. But he wanted to know what he was doing, how he was doing.

A few minutes later, shuffling steps came up the stairs. He looked up when Crowley stopped in the doorway.

He still didn't make eye contact, still didn't show any expression.

But at least his face was clean.

Aziraphale stayed still. Waiting to see what Crowley would do.

He sighed and his shoulders sagged. He dragged himself over to Aziraphale with slow steps. He hesitated at the foot of the bed.

Aziraphale set his book aside.

Crowley took off his glasses and tossed them onto the other side of the bed. He sat down near Aziraphale's feet. Not touching. Then he shuffled onto the bed, crawled up between his legs before collapsing face-first onto him.

Aziraphale gasped a little, he hadn't expected it. Hadn't expected Crowley to seek physical contact just yet. But maybe that was the difference this time. He needed comfort after what had happened.

Now he lay there, face pressed into Aziraphale's belly, chin digging uncomfortably into his crotch, arms flopped down on either side of his legs.

Aziraphale spread his legs to fully accommodate Crowley between them and shifted his hips to get a bit more comfortable. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching out to caress Crowley's shoulders.

A grunt.

What did that mean?

He applied a bit more pressure and felt Crowley's shoulders rise, pushing into the touch. He smiled and continued to rub over his shoulders.

He pulled his hand away and sunk it into Crowley' hair. He ran his fingers through the wavy strands, caressing, massaging, gently dragging his fingernails over his scalp.

If the soft sighs were anything to go by, he was doing exactly the right thing.

With his second hand, he began rubbing Crowley's shoulders again.

A small shudder went through him, his shoulders twitched.

Aziraphale stopped, raising his hand a little.

Crowley relaxed again.

Not good then. He focused on running his hand through Crowley's hair once more.

He sat with his head tipped back against the wall, his fingers tingling pleasantly, when Crowley turned his head.

Aziraphale pulled his hand away and waited.

Slowly, Crowley pushed himself up. Now he sat between his legs, hair tousled, face red from where it had been pressed against Aziraphale's stomach for so long.

He stretched, his spine cracking as he did.

He was still for several minutes, staring down at the blanket, or perhaps at their legs. Or at nothing at all.

Aziraphale didn't dare to speak yet. He knew it wouldn't do any good.

Crowley scowled. Then he flopped down again- on his back this time- and shuffled up until his back rested against Aziraphale's belly.

He tipped his head back against his chest, his hands came to rest on Aziraphale's knees.

Aziraphale gently wrapped his arms around Crowley's torso, pulling him just a little closer.

He could see that Crowley was still caught up in whatever plagued his mind. He planted a soft kiss on Crowley's hair.

At that, Crowley shifted a little, hesitant. Then his hand came to rest on top of Aziraphale's. But they didn't stay there long, twitching before he pulled away. They went back to Aziraphale's knees. His head sunk forward a little.

Aziraphale almost expected him to fall asleep.

But then he started fidgeting, he inhaled sharply. A pause. His jaw clenched, followed by a small, frustrated shake of his head. It tipped back, he seemed to stare at the ceiling for a while.

Then he shifted, stretching his head back further, not quite looking at Aziraphale's face. But enough so Aziraphale could see his.

He cocked his head a little and waited.

Crowley frowned and took a deep breath. He held it for a while- and then released it, slow and drawn out.

Then, with a sudden twitch, Crowley sat. He half-turned around and looked at Aziraphale’s shoulder.

He inhaled a few times as if wanting or trying to say something. But then he shook his head and slumped against Aziraphale's chest.

It knocked the breath of out of him when the weight hit him.

Crowley made an apologetic sound.

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him and whispered. "It's alright, dear."

A small nuzzle, his eyes slid shut and Crowley curled in on himself a little further.

No negative reaction to him speaking. That was a good sign.

After what could have been ten minutes or an hour- he really didn't know- Crowley shifted again and turned onto his belly.

His forehead was now pressed against Aziraphale's neck.

He sighed softly when Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He shifted a little but stilled as Aziraphale flinched beneath him.

He pulled back, frowning.

"The buckle of your belt," he said with an apologetic smile, rubbing a spot on his belly.

Crowley nodded. He took it off, tossing it onto the other side of the bed before draping himself all over Aziraphale again.

He was like a cat that way.

Even though he was technically a snake, Aziraphale mused. Did snakes do this? He had never had a close encounter with an actual snake before...

He was torn from his thoughts by Crowley wriggling a little where he lay on top of him, shuffling even higher and draping one of his legs over Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale had no idea how this could possibly be comfortable. But well, it had to be.

He wrapped both his arms around Crowley, hands resting on his shoulder blades and held him tightly.

Crowley pressed his face closer to his neck, nuzzling again.

Aziraphale smiled fondly.

When the sun had set and the first rays of moonlight shone through the window, Crowley spoke.

"Thanksss."

It was spoken quietly, his voice rough. So rough that it made Aziraphale wonder if Crowley had even touched the wine he had set out for him. And it did sound a bit forced. Like it had taken him a lot of effort to speak.

"Of course, dear. I’ll always be there if you need me."

Crowley shifted. Pushing away. He sat there, staring at the sheets.

He was thinking, debating, Aziraphale could see it clearly. “Don’t push yourself to speak. You don't need to.”

Crowley leaned back, his eyebrows rose a little.

Then one hand settled on Aziraphale's thigh, fingers splayed. And the thumb brushed over the fabric in a soft caress.

All at once it hit him how vulnerable Crowley looked like this. Soft and unguarded. No glasses, no harsh expression. One of his sleeves pushed up to his elbow. No defiant posture. Instead, he looked... relaxed. At ease.

He couldn't help but smile. It was a wonderful feeling, knowing that Crowley felt this comfortable around him. That he trusted him enough to let his guard down so completely.

He reached out, touched Crowley's forearm - the one where his sleeve still covered his arm, just to be on the safe side- and gently caressed it with a thumb.

At that, Crowley looked up. Eye contact for barely a second, then his eyes flicked to Aziraphale's neck.

He swallowed hard. Hesitant again.

Aziraphale waited patiently.

Crowley gestured hurriedly. It looked like he wanted Aziraphale to pay attention to his face.

"I'm watching," he said calmly.

A nod. A frown. Crowley mimicked yawning.

"You're tired?" Aziraphale guessed.

Another nod.

"But now we're home."

Crowley tilted his head at that.

Aziraphale, having noticed his error, hastened to correct himself: "Well, my home. The bookshop. But- but you know you're always welcome here."

Crowley stared at nothing in particular for a while. Then as his brain had processed the words, his eyebrows lifted. He looked at Aziraphale's hairline with a wondrous expression.

"Surely you know that." He tipped his head a little. "Right?" his voice was soft.

A small nod and he started fidgeting, his expression distant.

It was quiet for a long time.

Aziraphale didn't quite dare to break the silence because it looked like there was something else on Crowley's mind.

So he waited.

Crowley's eyes started drifting shut. They snapped open again and he lay down, tucking his hands under his head for a moment.

“Oh." now he understood. "Sure, I'll let you sleep."

A small noise. It almost sounded like... protest.

Aziraphale frowned. "Do you want me to stay with you?”

A hum.

Aziraphale smiled. "Let me tidy a few things up, get changed and I'll join you."

Crowley shuffled back, making room for Aziraphale to get off the bed.

As he was sitting on the edge, he looked over his shoulder. "Do you want to change too?"

With a simple motion, Crowley's tight pants and shirt were replaced with an oversized t-shirt.

Aziraphale quickly got up, taking the tray with him. He hurried downstairs, washing the kettle and cup as well as the wine glass.

Had his mind not been occupied with getting back to Crowley as quickly as possible, he would have noticed that the note he had written earlier was missing.

When he came back into the bedroom, already wearing his pajamas, Crowley was lying on his back, holding his hands up and staring at them.

Was he inspecting the chipped black nail polish?

He dropped his hands when Aziraphale climbed into bed.

Aziraphale opened his arms.

Crowley made a soft noise and slid closer, his back to Aziraphale's chest.

He noticed how cold Crowley's skin had gotten. So he quickly wrapped his arms around him to warm him up again.

This time when Crowley covered his hands with his own, they stayed there.

Crowley lay awake for a long while. When his mind was as busy as it was now, sleep didn't come easy to him.

Aziraphale's arms were wrapped around him, heavy and soft, his hands now limp and pliant in his own. He pressed them against his chest, enjoying the warmth and the pressure. He spotted another, smaller pillow and pulled it close, tucking it against his chest under Aziraphale's hands. It created a comfortable pressure. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

His eyes shot open, his heart beating faster.

He thought he had smelled smoke. Irritated, he looked around. But there was no fire.

Then he grabbed a strand of his hair and dragged it to his nose. That was it. The scent of smoke clung to his hair. It brought everything up again, the events of the afternoon. A shudder ran down his spine. The scent was all around him, closing in, threatening to choke him. And now he was in the building again. Finding the dead girl curled up under the table. Her limp body-

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

A quick miracle and his hair smelled like Aziraphale. Like old books and tea. Like warmth and comfort. Like long afternoons and nights spent together.

He tried to focus on that. On the comforting scent and Aziraphale behind him. On the soft breaths at the back of his neck. On the warm legs resting against his own.


	2. Chapter 2

When Crowley woke up in the morning, there was a heavy weight on his chest. He frowned and opened his eyes. A mass of white curls filled his vision. He smiled.

The blanket was pushed down around their hips, so he pulled it up to cover them again. Then he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. Warm, soft Aziraphale.

The sun rose, gradually making the room brighter, almost a little too bright.

He closed his eyes.

But his thoughts were picking up again. So much for early morning bliss.

He played with Aziraphale's curls to distract himself. He pushed at them, felt them bounce back into place. He slid a hand through them and sighed at the feeling.

When his attention was drawn to a particularly bouncy curl, he was interrupted by one of Aziraphale's hands, sleepily swatting his finger away and scratching his head.

Crowley opened his eyes and pushed at the curl again.

An irritated - and definitely very unangelic- grunt as the hand reached up again, waving through the air as if to drive away a fly.

This went on for a while until Aziraphale shifted and raised his head. He squinted and blinked sleepily.

Crowley slid one hand into his hair, pulling at several curls at once.

"So it  _ was  _ you.” Aziraphale laughed quietly. “Good morning," His voice still rough from sleep.

Crowley blinked slowly and gave a small smile.

Just as Aziraphale wanted to roll off, Crowley held onto him to keep him there.

Aziraphale- having plans of his own, however- took hold of Crowley and rolled them over anyway.

Crowley might have made a quite undignified and surprised sound. Now he found himself on top of Aziraphale, their legs entwined.

Aziraphale slowly reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. And taking the chance, he stayed there to cup Crowley's face in a hand, caressing his cheek with a thumb.

Crowley's eyes closed a little, he leaned into the touch. He looked at Aziraphale's face, the warm smile, the way the corners of his mouth curled up, the small wrinkles around his eyes, the folds under his chin.

He slid off Aziraphale, so he lay pressed against his side and dropped his head to rest against his shoulder.

An arm wrapped around his back, holding him close.

Warmth spread in his chest. He smiled, burying his face in the soft skin of Aziraphale's neck, inhaling the familiar scent.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving kudos/comments! <3


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